


Cave In

by Tom_Tomorrow



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Angst, Big Sister Maggie Sawyer, F/F, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-12-07 18:29:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11629368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tom_Tomorrow/pseuds/Tom_Tomorrow
Summary: “Maggie?”She turns slightly and winces, her body reacting to the pain and the cold.And the heat. She feels that too.Heat from the blood that should be inside her, but isn’t.Running down the side of her face instead.“Kara… What… what happened?”





	Cave In

_ Hour One. _

 

“Maggie… Maggie…”

 

Someone’s calling her name. At least she thinks someone is.

The voice speaking above her sound warped and distorted.

Like everything is underwater and far, far away.

And the sharp ringing, searing its way into her skull, refuses to make concentrating any easier.

Maggie wants to move. To shake the mind-numbing sensation away. To do something. Anything.

But her body won’t cooperate with her mind.

It refuses.

And the detective is left to suffer its consequences.

Alone… in the dark.

And why… Why is it so dark? 

Why is she left here in the wide expanse of empty darkness? In this giant bunch of nothing?

Nothingness shouldn’t be here.

There should always be something.

 

“Maggie! Please!”

 

Though the words are frantic and disjointed and so horribly strained, the voice that carries them sounds painfully familiar.

And familiar is good.

Familiar is safe.

 

“ **Maggie!”**

 

Much louder this time.

Youthful and heavy and terribly loud. 

Awareness shoots forward. 

She knows that voice.

Only one person sounds like that.

Kara.

Maggie groans as she pries her eyes open and her world subsequently splits apart.

Hurling flashing spots and morphing colors into her blurry, double vision.

And the resulting sluggish incoherency makes the detective see everything in a  slow series of fast-but not quite so-scenes.

Dust particles glinting in golden hue of a pinprick sliver of sunlight.

The unmistakable red sweep of cape cascading over the blonde's shoulders.

The motionless form of… of Davidson.

And concrete. Slabs of it. Broken, shattered, chunks of it.  Everywhere.

A sweeping wave of nausea threatens to twist her vision sideways once more.

And the detective closes her eyes, c raving the darkness that blotted out the feeling, savouring the moments before she’d inevitably have to open them again.

She’s on the ground. That much she realizes. She can feel the cool concrete pressing against her chest, her face, her torso.

She’s bleeding too.

Discovers that when she runs her tongue over her lips in half assed effort to retain some moisture, and comes away with dried, crusty dust and the all too familiar copper taste.

Discovers that because the thick mattedness of hair to her face is much to thick and sour to be water.

The detective weakly sucks in some air to clear her mind, but only ends up drawing in the torrent of fine, white dust that had accumulated on the ground.

The resulting coughing fit that follows sends piercing pains across her chest. Z result of the bruised, if not broken ribs.

 

“Maggie?”

 

She turns slightly and winces, her body reacting to the pain and the cold.

And the heat. She feels that too.

Heat from the blood that should be inside her, but isn’t.

Running down the side of her face instead.

 

“Kara… What… what happened?”

 

The detective croaks and when she opens her eyes this time, things are much clearer, despite the minute illumination. 

Kara’s half kneeling, angled almost a full half turn away from the detective.

One knee and one foot press firmly against the cracking cement floor and her arms are held above her.

Supporting a terrifyingly massive slab of concrete, mere inches above her head.

 

“They… They gave up on shooting at us… and… and blew up the entire building instead.”

 

Kara is saying through gritted teeth.

The memories come back in flashes.

Gunshots. Getting cornered. Falling chunks of cement as Kara yanks them forward.

 

“You gotta… You gotta check Davidson. I can- I can hear his heart beating, but I can’t see him.”

 

Kara continues and a shiver of pain whips its way through the detective’s small frame as she turns to where she last saw Davidson.

Maggie has to squint to see him. And it doesn’t look good.

He’s on his back and an arms length away. Unconscious. Unresponsive.

Covered in dust and cuts and bruises.

But it’s his leg that worries her, the thick metal rebar poking through.

 

“Kara. He’s going to need medical attention.”

 

The detective murmurs, warily watching dark blood seep from the edges of the wound.   

Kara doesn’t answer.

And when Maggie tries to inch forward in the tiny crawl space of an area to examine him further, a sharp spear of rippling agony sears up her right leg.

Tears cloud her vision, and when she looks down, her foot is pinned, nearly invisible under the piles and piles of rock.

Fuck.

 

“Kara. Can you get us out of here?”

 

An uncomfortable pause.

 

“I… I don’t think I can.”

 

And for the first time Maggie actually registers, rather than hears, the strain in the blonde’s voice.

 

“Are you okay?”

 

Another pause.

 

“No… I, uh, I got shot.”

 

Cold runs through her veins. 

And squinting past Kara she can see the faint glowing green that illuminates the small area.

 

“It’s okay, it’s s’okay. I just… this is just... real… really hard to balance. I’m… sorry.”

 

The blonde murmurs, never turning once to look at her.

Maggie swallows hard, struggles to wipe the cobwebs on her mind away, struggles to think over her pounding head.

 

“No, it’s fine, it’s fine, I’ll just radio command.”

 

Maggie mumbles, pressing her burning skull back into the cool concrete, as she feels for her radio.

And she wants to scream because the DEO would be much more suited for this, but National City’s police department didn’t allow personnel to carry personal communication devices.

Which means her cellphone is in the squad car.

It takes two tries and four sweeping waves of nausea for the radio to click on.

 

“Command, this is Detective Sawyer, copy.”

 

It’s Moe Jardon who answers.

Who listens as she relays the information, trying her best not to slur her words.

Who assures her, them, that help is on the way.

Then tells Maggie to cut the radio to half power, stop calling out, and that they’ll call in. To conserve battery power.

And she nods.  Before realizing he can’t see her.

And Kara is quiet.

Davidson too.

 

~“Hang tight, Sawyer. Help is on the way.”~

  
  


… … … 

 

_ Hour Three _

 

Maggie tries her best. 

Tries to triage what she can.

Tries to make sure Davidson is still breathing

Tries to keep Kara talking.

But the blonde is oddly shut off.

Speaking only when spoken too, and even then monosyllabic at best.

Maggie knows the blonde is hurting.

Bullets hurt.

Especially when they don’t bounce off you.

Maggie can see her hands trembling under the concrete.

Can hear the groaning pressure of the rocks shift precariously with the slightest movement.

But Kara is stubborn.

Stubborn like her sister.

Would rather carry the weight of the world on her shoulders, than admit that something was wrong.

But Maggie is hurting too.

The nausea isn't abating.

It hurts to take in any kind of deep breath.

And she has to wiggle her toes every few minutes just to make sure that her foot is still there.

It makes concentration excruciatingly difficult.

But she tries. Tries to keep some semblance of direction.

Because without Kara to carry on even sporadic conversation, there is too much quiet.

It fills her ears, suffocates her, like the dust, and the walls of this claustrophobic enclosure.

And she can’t take the silence.

The sirens are faint, as if they're in the distance, even when they've radioed in that they're already on scene. 

And Maggie had hoped by now they’d be able to hear their rescuers digging. 

Had hoped to be able to hear something besides the whoosh of blood in her ears, Davidson’s distressed breathing, Kara’s labored pants.

But realism had been forced to set in long ago.

Especially when the last update, well over thirty minutes ago, had been not too optimistic.

She supposes, in the pain filled silence, that she should be grateful that this was an abandoned building on the outskirts of National City. 

That it was far from any occupied civilian location. 

That it was just the three of them. 

Diminished life risk. 

She should feel grateful. 

It's really difficult to see it that way though. 

Eventually, though the silence, is too much.

And Maggie finds herself practically coercing Kara into giving periodic updates on Davidson, on the unfriendlies, on the preceding events. 

On anything.

 

“Kara, what's his pulse like?”

 

She asks hoarsely. 

The crimson puddle is spreading.

Slowly but surely.  

And there's nothing she can do about it.  

She can barely touch his elbow, much less his leg .

 

“It's fast.”

 

Kara says shortly.

 

“And mine?”

 

Maggie immediately follows up, not giving her time to retreat back into her mind. 

The radio fires back to life.

Crackles horribly as the message pushes itself through, interrupting whatever potential monosyllabic answer Kara was no doubt going to say.

 

~“Detective Sawyer, this is Raymond Underhill, the Fire Chief of National City Fire Department, you’ve been dispatched to our radio line. Do you copy?”~

 

Maggie smothers a twinge of pain that ripples up her spine as she gropes around in the diminished light for the device.

 

~”This is Detective Sawyer, copy.”

 

Maggie murmurs, whispering into the dark.

Squinting at the glowing orange rectangular screen.

Two bars left.

Two out of the original six.

 

~ “Great to hear your voice, detective. I want you to know my men have inspected and secured the scene, but I have to be frank with you, we’re looking at a six story building collapse. It’s going to be a bit before we can get y’all out.” 

 

Okay.  

Okay. 

She looks at Davidson. Unconscious and bleeding out.

And terribly still.

 

~” What kind of time frame are we looking at?”

 

~“Another station is bringing in the K-9 unit to help pinpoint your location. We've already started clearing some of the wreckage away… it could be another six or seven hours.” 

 

Maggie wheezes softly against the torrent of dust. 

And she thinks she hears Kara groan.

Soft and barely heard under the shifting pressure of concrete.

 

“Detective Sawyer. Is there anyone you want me to call?”

 

Her gut twists.

They only ask for relatives if it's bad.

They only ask for relatives, if there’s a chance…

No… no.

Maggie struggles to focus.

Where did Alex say she would be this morning?

The DEO? 

Yeah...that sounds right.

The detective’s eyes readjust to the radio in her hands.

Until the blurry image of it is sharp around the edges.

 

“Umm… yeah… yeah… could you call Alexandra Danvers? And… and Stephanie Davidson?”

 

Maggie asks with a rattling breath.  

The contact number for each rolling off her tongue. 

Stephanie is Davidson’s wife. 

A sweet redhead who worked for the Department of Transportation. 

Their second anniversary is coming up at the end of the next month. 

And goddamn it, Davidson will be there. 

 

“Okay. Does Supergirl have anyone to contact?”

 

Maggie glances at Kara, a whole new set of rigidness in her shoulders. 

The detective knows she's been listening.

Knows the blonde can't give up any aspect of her own identity.

And what does it matter anyway.

Mon-el is gone, ejected into outer space. 

Superman is in Nicaragua helping with the flash floods. 

And for the sake of preserving her identity the blonde has to pretend that she knows literally no one else.

Maggie watches Kara, oh so subtly, shake her head. 

The detective hesitates for a long moment before turning back on the radio.

 

“No.”

 

… … … 

 

_ Hour Four.  _

 

It’s getting dark.

Darker than it’s already been.

The pale sliver of yellow light from one of the miniscule crack of one of the boulders is rapidly dissipating as the sun inevitably begins set.

Her flashlight is broken, the bulb shattered with the impact of hitting the ground.

Soon they will only have the glowing orange of the radio screen and the radiating neon green of the bullets embedded in the blonde’s body.

And if the radio dies out...

This crawlspace is microscopic.

Really only a nine feet circle they’re dealing with.

And it feels like the walls are closing in already.

She doesn’t want to think of what it will feel like when she won’t be able to see her hands in front of her anymore.

Maggie sighs inwardly.

Wiggling her toes.

Sending small spikes of pain reverberating up her spine.

At least they’re still there.

The small movements also help her stay awake.

Helping her fight the darkness at the edges of vision. The darkness that tries to attack its way inward.

The fire station has been sending periodic updates.

The dogs are apparently on scene, but the building is too unstable to send them further than a few feet past the perimeter.

Forcing the firefighters to work their way in, from the outside first, clearing the wreckage piece by piece. 

And goddamnit Maggie knows the building is unstable, that’s why Kara is supporting half of it, like Atlas, the Greek mythical hero balancing  the entire world on his back.

The time passed has clearly taken a toll on the young Kryptonian.

Because before that concrete slab was held high above her head.

Now it’s mere centimeters from it.

The layers of concrete shifting with the slightest movements it takes for the blonde to readjust her grip.

Her head bent forward with the effort it takes.

Exhaustion is getting to the hero whether she wants to admit it or not.

 

“I… I could use my heat vision… T-to let ‘em know where are.”

 

Kara waterily mutters through gritted teeth.

For a fleeting moment, Maggie considers it, but common sense punches through.

 

“No… no… don’t. It’s already unstable as it is.”

 

She doesn’t want to find out how much strain the multiple layers of concrete above them can take. 

Especially when Kara’s heat vision isn’t exactly known for its pin point accuracy.

And the detective knows that her heat vision is a power sapper.

She’d blown her powers using it more than a couple of times.

That couldn’t happen now.

 

“You need your energy.”

 

Maggie adds. 

Kara doesn’t reply, instead only sniffs loudly.

And the detective sees the blonde’s shoulders shaking.

Quivering silently under the massive weight.

 

“Kara. It’s okay, help is coming. It’s gonna.. It’s gonna be fine.”

 

Maggie can’t think of any better lie to tell. 

  
  


… … …

 

Hour Five.

 

~“Maggie, do you copy?”

 

Alex.

It’s Alex.

The worry and fear audible in her girlfriend’s tone.

And the detective’s heart lifts and her enthusiasm heightens.

Because this is Alex.

She’s here.

 

~ “Copy.”

 

She murmurs into the phone, relief flooding her words.

 

“Hey, hey… You hanging in there?”

 

Alex radios back in, soft voice filled with the taller brunette's own personal brand of cautious hope. 

 

“For now. The sooner you can get us out of here the better.”

 

Maggie says eventually, unsure of how to sugar coat anything. 

 

“I know… I know. Just hang on a bit longer okay? J’onn is on his way back from DC, he’ll be able to get you guys out of there in no time. Just give him the three hours it takes to get down here. ”

 

Maggie glances back at Davidson.

The pool of crimson is spreading further.

Staining the dust and the ground with it’s muted dark color.

 

“I… I don’t know if Davidson has that kind of time, Lex.”

 

There’s a significant pause over the phone.

And when the message crackles over the phone again, Alex’s concern though never fully abated, is back full force.

 

“We’re doing all we can, Mags. They… They rattled the building pretty well. The main infrastructure is almost gone. Steph will be down in the next hour or two, she was at a conference in Metropolis, the DEO is flying her down.”

 

She knew it.

Knew that the fire chief had been lying for her own benefit.

Knows Alex still isn’t telling her everything.

But the detective isn’t entirely sure she wants to hear what other bad news there inevitably is.

And decides that not knowing, is better than the alternative.  

 

“Okay… Okay….”

 

She ends up agreeing. 

 

“Supergirl? How are you doing?”

 

And Maggie knows Alex had picked up on Kara’s uncharacteristic silence. 

And she can tell Alex hates having to use the professional moniker, instead of talking directly with her sister, but they’re too many civilians around.

 

“The... building is unstable. I’ve g-got most of it.”

 

Maggie shifts toward Kara again.

Wishes she could see the blonde’s face from this angle.

Because right now, the blonde is giving an answer to a question that wasn’t even asked.

Not outright lying, but skirting the edge, by avoiding instead.

 

“That wasn’t what I was asking. Dispatch reported three injured.”

 

Alex replies testily. Knowing an avoidance tactic when she sees one.

 

“I’m fine.”

 

It’s a lie. 

Betrayed by the audible waver in the tall blonde’s words.

 

“Supergirl-”

 

“I’m fine.”

 

Kara says again, a tad more convincing.

 

“Maggie and Davidson need medical attention… b-but I’m f-fine. Fine. I just gotta keep on.. Keep on holding it up. I’m fine.”

 

But Maggie sees her trembling hands. 

Knows she’s not.

And it’s amazing how through her own compromised hearing and Kara’s compromised stilted speech, Maggie can still hear that hollow resolve, can still hear the worry.

Can hear how focused Kara is on them, rather than herself.

A high-pitched beeping tone interrupts them.

Makes Maggie flinch involuntarily.

It’s coming from the radio.

The orange glow glints tauntingly.

One bar left.

She tells Alex as much.

 

“We’re coming okay? We’re coming. Just hang on.”

 

And it’s only when Alex says it, that Maggie is truly able to hold onto those words.

Truly able to believe them.

That they are getting out of this. Period.

She could not think otherwise, or else it was already over.

  
  


…. …. …. … 

_ Hour six. _

 

With only one bar left, they are forced to cut the conversation short.

Save the battery, for emergent cases only.

As a result, they’re forcefully lulled into another quiet phase.

Conversation is difficult to sustain; even though it had never been all that easy, especially for Davidson.

Kara goes radio silent.

Stops responding to Maggie’s random questions.

Focusing solely on supporting the concrete almost resting on her shoulders now, rather than her hands.

Maggie can’t remember what they’d been talking about last, supposes it didn’t matter all that much as long as it didn’t involve asking how many hours they’d been there, how many more they’d be stuck.

And Maggie finds herself staring off into the distance, struggling to stay awake.

Because the exhaustion is inescapable, attacking her with every breath.

And without the constant radio updates relaying information on progress, the darkness wins its hard fought battle whether she likes it or not  

She’s snatched from her dozing state by a haggard, sudden noise.

Maggie coughs, and it’s impossible to do that and not feel the pain,  as she pries her eyes open.

Had she blacked out?

It’s completely dark now, only the orange light from the radio, exudes any particular light.

Okay, she definitely had.

Might have even been for more than a good few minutes.

Because the sliver light is completely gone. Gone.

The haggard, screeching doesn’t abate as her mind begins to clear.

And as she swallows to alleviate the pressure in her ears, the noise skyrockets exponentially, and she’d be damned if the voice didn’t sound the slightest bit familiar.

Davidson.

He’s awake.

Awake and screaming.

A horrifying, agonizing sound.

A scream filled with so much pain, agony, and despair.

Echoing off the walls of the caved in concrete.

His eyes wide with horror, mouth rigid and open, chalky face gaunt and immobile, as his fists clench with blanched knuckles, pawing at the rebar protruding out of his leg.

Yelling incomprehensibly over and over again.

 

“Stop! Stop! Stop it! Stop screaming!” 

 

Kara. 

Yelling desperately at Davidson who’s consumed in his own terror.

And the detective remembers how sensitive the hero’s own hearing is.

Knows that Kara can’t so much as cover her ears without allowing this entire structure collapse upon on them.

So it’s up to the detective.

And the screams make her head hurt too.

Sending reminiscent waves of nausea through her.

But the concrete is shifting dangerously above them.

She has to get him to stop.

Maggie squints in the general direction of him.

 

“Davidson! Davidson! OSCAR. Look at me!”

 

The detective yells grabbing blindly at his flailing arm.

The contact causes the volume to abate slightly, as her partner registers her touch and the sound of her voice.

But it’s not enough.

And Kara is still screaming at him to stop.

And the combined volume echoes off the walls.

Makes everything sound louder than it needs to be.

Making everything infinitely worse.

 

“Davidson, you’ve gotta stop, you’ve got too. The building is going to collapse if you don’t.”

 

She begs and Davidson turns toward her.

Expression full of the same exhausting agony.  

Her partner’s glassy eyes flit over her own.

And Maggie can hear him trying, trying to stifle his screams, trying to stifle his pain.

 

“Oh GOD. Oh GOD. Fuck fuckfuckfuck…..”

 

Davidson keens loudly. Off kilter and high caliber. 

Tears running down his face as his leg continues to spasm around the rebar.

 

“You’re alright, you’re alright.”

 

She lies, hitching breaths punctuating each panicked, repeated word and holy hell, his screaming has to stop. Because it hurts so, so much.

 

“You’re all right.”

 

She says again as Davidson’s eyes glance away, clenching them shut as he tries to acclimate to the pain.

Smothering his screams into desperate gasping wails.

It’s better than nothing.

For a long moment nothing can be heard except Kara’s laboured breathing, Davidson sobbing expletives, and the groaning, shifting, metal.

 

“Kara? Kara, are you okay?”

 

Maggie calls out in a desperate whisper, continuing to hold her iron grip onto Davidson’s twitching arm.

 

“He’s too loud, Maggie….He’s… He’s… He’s too loud.”

 

The blonde whispers brokenly.

Tearfully. 

 

“Listen to me Kara, focus on me, on my heartbeat. Not him.”

 

The blonde doesn't reply.

But eventually, the concrete steadies out.

Davidson doesn’t stop crying.

 

… … …. …. 

 

_ Hour Seven. _

 

“Did… Did someone call Steph?”

 

Davidson calls out shakily.

Harsh wheezing fills the air where the silence, then the screaming had been, awful and familiar. 

In the silent cave of their existence, her partner’s breathing is strident, abrasive. 

And his words are slurred.

It sounds all wrong, wrong, and worse than it had been before. 

 

“Steph is coming, she’s on the way from Metropolis.”

 

Maggie echoes quietly, with empty promise.

Because Stephanie was supposed to have been here already.

 

“She’s on her way?”

 

He repeats airily.

And Maggie can feel his crimson under her hands now, soaking up into her long sleeved shirt.

And his blood is warm, but he’s cold.

Cold and sweaty. And she feels him shivering under her iron grip.

Blood starts rushing in Maggie’s ears at the barest, causal implication that Davidson could maybe, possibly, likely be, going into shock.

And once he started going into shock, it would be difficult to bring him back from that, if  he stayed that way for any longer. 

Calm, she had to stay calm, as much for herself as for Davidson. 

As much for herself  as for Kara.

 

“Oh God. She’s going to… t-to kill me. She s-saidgh de j-job was dangerous.”

 

He murmurs slurredly.

Maggie holds his arm tighter.

 

“Save your energy, Davidson.”

 

Kara doesn’t say a word.

The concrete slab rests on her shoulders now.

…. … .

_ Hour eight.  _

 

The radio is dead.

Dead.

And she can’t remember when it went out.

Just that it’s dark now. 

Dark.

A suffocating darkness.

Davidson had ceased his incoherent babbling.

She can no longer see if he’s breathing.

Kara isn’t answering her, only the faint glow of green providing the slightest outline of her cape, proves her existence there.

And the detective can’t even see her watch.

Maggie is well aware of the fluidity of time.

Logically, a minute was a minute and there was no changing that outside of much.

But emotionally, a minute could feel like an hour and an hour a minute. 

She’d prefer the latter, but is stuck with the former.

And without the watch or radio, there is absolutely no way of telling how much of it has passed.

It feels like days.

The only saving grace for it not actually having been that long is that the three of them are still alive.

She thinks. 

And the detective wants to scream.

She tries not to think about the blood probably spilling outside of Davidson’s body.

She tries not to think about another building shift flattening them.

Tries to not think of Kara’s uncharacteristic silence.

Tries not to think about much except rescue, which is coming if only because it has to be.

Until, suddenly, Maggie feels something cold and wet sprinkle against the back of her neck,   soak the back of her legs.

It confuses her for a bit, she hadn’t heard any rain. 

Briefly, she wonders if someone up there is crying.

No, that’s stupid.

She is the only one with tears streaming. Kara too. 

The first responders must have begun hosing it down as they picked through the rubble, or they were just now getting close enough for the water to trickle down. 

She strains to hear them, hear anything but the blood swooshing in her ears and Davidson’s weak wheezes getting somehow fainter.

The metal is groaning, shifting, moving.

Pebbles and rocks falling all around them.

And she has to pull her hand away from Davidson to cover her head.

Another shift in concrete, makes the entire structure is groan loudly.

Maggie squints to clear her gray-tinged tunnel vision and she thinks she can see the outlines of debris now.

Artificial light is rapidly encroaching into their cave, as hunk after hunk of concrete is removed, delicately in rapid succession.

There’s another ugly scraping sound, loud, too loud, and she hears voices now shouts, agitated and urgent as another chunk of concrete is pushed away.

Then she sees him. Almost face to face.

J’onn J’onnz.

Glowing red eyes, and muscular green form in all his alien glory.

She could have cried.

J’onn is closest to Kara.

And it is Kara he turns to first, eager to get the mass of concrete she’s balancing on her shoulders off.

 

“No. No. Get them first.”

 

Kara is saying, hastily, words heavy and slurred and lethargic.

Firefighters are filling in behind him. 

Running toward her with a large, bulging red medical kit.

And Maggie finds herself protesting too. 

 

“No. Davidson. Davidson first,” 

 

Maggie whispers, words a jumble. 

 

“His legs. Davidson is bleeding, he’s… he’s lost a lot of… of blood. Him first.”

 

Some of them split off toward her partner.

The rest stay and she feels hands on her, pulling at the rocks, lifting them, moving them.

The pain in her leg is electric, violent, and inescapable when they finally move it away from the rubble.

She wants to scream.

She doesn’t. 

Instead, grinds her teeth until she can taste fresh copper and only see stars in her vision.

Somewhere in front of her there’s a monstrous crash.

And past the firefighter, Maggie can see that J’onn has lifted the massive slab of concrete from the blonde’s back.

Can see Kara struggling to stand fully for the first time.

And as the blonde staggers forward into J’onn’s arms, Maggie sees the crimson soaking thoroughly through the blue of her super suit. 

Shaking, trembling. 

Then Alex is there.

Hovering in the peripheral of her vision.

Arguing with the firefighters who try to get her to stay back.

And Maggie knows then, that they’re safe.

That she doesn’t have to fight to stay awake anymore.

That he doesn’t have to fight to stay conscious. 

So with the EMTs asking questions and the stars bouncing in her vision, she relinquishes her battle with the pain.

And let's the darkness win its war.

 

… … … .

 

_ Later…  _

 

Coming back from this darkness is much slower.

It comes in staggered stages. 

She feels oozy and strange. 

The detective registers the hurt first.

The pain that nibbles at her, almost dulled, but pain just the same. 

Her ribs hurt, her legs, her head, but there was a detachment to it, as if she was watching it from far away.

The sight comes next.

There’s a lot of white. Too much white.

White walls. White ceilings. White sheets. White bandages.

And she squints at the IV poking into her bruised and battered skin. 

Drugged… drugs… morphine maybe. 

She didn’t doubt the need for it – because she hurt even under the morphine’s effects, and she really disliked the pain – had done everything possible to abate it. 

But, she hated this dizzy disconnected feeling.

Hated not being able to think straight, because as a detective, thinking was all she ever really had. 

A sharp ripple of pain crept up her injured body when she attempts to shift her position further, and the detective winces as the twinge radiates to other less sore areas.

She sucks in a breath, finally clear of dust, but regrets it instantly, when the cough continues.

 

“Hang on, hang on.”

 

Alex?

A voice says bringing a hand to her shoulder, leaning her forward.

Alex, she decides, as her girlfriend’s face swims into her vision.

 

“Just ride through it, Mags. Better?”

 

Alex placates as the detective’s coughing slows.

 

“Better,”

 

Maggie responds, still gasping for air.

 

“I feel like crap.”

 

“Would have thought as much.”

 

Alex murmurs, sweeping her thumb over the detective’s knuckles. 

On one of the few places that doesn’t hurt.

 

“Is D-Davidson okay?”

 

Maggie asks raspily.

 

“He’s in surgery, Steph is with him, the doctor’s say he’s going to pull through.”

 

Good.

Good…

 

“And… and Kara?”

 

The detective whispers, remembering the seeping patches of crimson splotching across her torso.

Alex smiles tiredly, looking past Maggie.

And Maggie follows her gaze to see the Kryptonian.

The blonde lay still under an array of yellow lights on another cot mere feet away.

The super suit having been cut off, replaced with baggy sweats and a tank top, makes the blonde look oddly younger, than she actually is.

 

“Sun lamps.”

 

Alex says morosely.

Maggie turns back, moving a hand to feel the bandages plastered over the cut at her hairline.  

 

“She did a good job.”

 

Alex sighs and her grip on Maggie’s hand tightens. 

 

“You both did.”

 

The detective’s appreciative nod, turns into a grimace as a residual wave of pain shoots forward

 

“You… you know what Lex?”

 

Alex hums her response, focused on checking the bandages that encase the detective’s body.

 

“I think I’m… I think I’m going to… take a couple days off of work.”

 

Alex laughs.

A watery one, but a real one.

 

“Yeah, Mags. We need a few days to figure out how you and Kara can quit your nasty habits of trying to die on me.” 

 

Her girlfriend says, half joking, half serious.

And Maggie groans.

 

“Come on, Lex, it wasn’t our fault.”

 

Maggie protests, shifting into a more comfortable position.

Her limbs feel heavy, her mind does too.

And a sudden, overwhelming urge to sleep sweeps over her.

There’s a faint smile of Alex’s lips, as she looks back at the detective.

 

“I know.”

 

She says pushing some of Maggie’s loose hair behind her ear.

 

“I love you.”

 

Maggie says because she feels she never says it enough.

 

“I love you, too.”

 

And there are tears in Alex’s eyes.

 

“Get some rest, Mags, I know you’re tired. We can talk more when you’re both up.”

 

But she doesn’t want to sleep, Maggie wants to say.

She’s had enough of that darkness, trapped underneath the rubble.

The drifting unconsciousness doesn’t give her much of a choice. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you thought!
> 
> What else would you like to see?
> 
> Additionally, I am still working on One More Step.


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